


Devour The Wicked

by barghest



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Will Graham, Gen, Good Hannibal Lector, Gore, Vegetarians & Vegans, i feel really bad for tagging it that but its part of an injoke okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham, one of the FBI's most talented and successful profilers, is back at work from a bout of "stress leave", ready to assist the investigation into a new set of murders springing up in the Baltimore area. To keep him as stable as possible, he is sent to have casual sessions with noted psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lector, well known for his skills with his patients and his fabulous charity dinner parties. However, Dr. Lector is soon going to find that the quiet Will Graham is not as quiet as he seems.<br/>(UNFINISHED because I'm dumb haha?? I want to rewrite this some time. Leaving it up, ofc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Golden Retriever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bethan Webster](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bethan+Webster).



> hoo whoa hey  
> i started this whilst im in the middle of writin another piece but omg dont worry thatll get completed too?? i just got struck with inspiration. anyway this is kindve a nice little au alignment-flip, inspired by a prompt i was given; "what if hannibal was just the nice classy psychologist vegetarian who wears sweater vests and will was the crazy secret murderer who slashes people up in the forest and then feeds their remains to his dogs for fun". this has probably been done three thousand times before but??? i dont care??? heheh.  
> anyway, this is unlikely to feature many, if any at all, of the canon cases, but we shall see how we go i guess.  
> enjoy??
> 
> dedicated to bethan, because you are the will graham to my hannibal and by that i mean im gonna spend all of london october expo followin you around with deer antlers on my head. also this is your prompt and im grateful.

When Doctor Hannibal Lector first met special investigator Will Graham, it was raining outside.

The Baltimore sky at that time of year was hardly ever clearer than a mass of blood and form that writhed angrily overhead, as if the area's residents had offended it. Will's jacket - slightly dirty, with the right sleeve torn a little about the elbow - clung to his skin, and his curls were crushed against the back fo his neck. He wiped his glasses on the damp hoodie that served as the layer underneath, sniffing a little. Hannibal had taken off his raincoat to reveal a fetching shirt-and-sweatervest combination, with a delicate diamond pattern spilling down his chest, and handed it to the person he mistakenly assumed to be some sort of doorman. The investigator squinted a little, but folded the coat up and set it on one of the chairs near the entrance to the room.

"I see you have already become acquainted with one of our top investigators, Dr. Lector," for a man built like the gentlemen's version of a tank, Jack Crawford had an extraordinary knack for silently entering a room. Hannibal, having seated himself on one of the empty chairs, and Will, leaning on his hands against the wall, turned to face him, both tilting their heads a little at his presence. Looking between Jack and the somewhat scraggly individual in the corner, Hannibal's eyebrows rose a little.

"Is this? The famous Will Graham?," he stood from his seat, offering his hand towards Will as he crossed the room. "My apologies for earlier, Will, it is a pleasure to meet you." Jack narrowed his eyes a little, but said nothing. The damp coat has told him enough.

"It's fine," Will shook his hand, nails digging into Hannibal's palm. They would definitely leave marks. He let go, focussing on a point just above Hannibal's left shoulder. "It's nice to meet you too, Dr. Lector." Hannibal nodded, and reseated himself, hands clasped on his lap. His shoulder shifted back a little, shirt fabric pulling tighter, as he felt Will's eyes follow the air space next to his neck - as if he was making eye contact with some tiny demon creature Hannibal was unable to see.

"Now that you two are properly acquainted," Jack seated himself behind the room's only desk, and began to push through some papers on its surface, "I want you to know, Will, that Dr. Lector will be assisting us," Will could feel the man's eyes burning into the lenses of his glasses and immediately dropped his eyes, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on his shoe, "and you especially in the upcoming cases. Dr. Bloom recommended Dr. Lector to us in the confidence that he would be able to help us in our endeavors to uncover the truth. Isn't that right, Dr. Lector?"

Hannibal nodded, "I am most flattered by the recommendation. Dr. Bloom is very accomplished in her own right." Will remained silent, his acknowledgement coming only in the form of inclining his head ever so slightly.

"As it is, you have arrived just in time," Jack scrutinized the papers in his hands, before rising to divide them between Will and Hannibal. "We need you two up to speed as soon as possible." Hannibal leaned back in his chair, studying the front page of the document. He frowned a little, almost opening his mouth before thinking better of it, and turned the page. The room was silent for a few moments, before Will - who had gotten as far as the crime scene photos - spoke.

"Am I going to correct in assuming here," his eyes had a bizarre twinkle to them that only Hannibal noticed, "that the Hound is back?"

\--

Winston was, to all intents and purposes, a mutt. A gorgeous mutt - in the opinion of Will Graham, anyway - but a mutt all the same. There was retriever in him somewhere, but Will suspected there was some type of gundog in his - spaniel, maybe? Regardless of breed, his tail was busy beating against the oak boards of the porch, in time to the rain thundering down around the slightly off kilter house. Dark eyes kept themselves trained on a moving patch of shadow in the distance. Before long he was joined by the rest of the pack, milling about the porch out of the rain.

The dark shadow grew larger, and significantly more human shaped, and one of the smaller dogs began to bark. Winston snarled them quiet again, but the pack as a whole had started to whine softly into the night.

Will Graham emerged from the treeline, striding steadily through the wet grasses surrounding his property. The plants clung and tugged at his pants, but he forged on, breath misting the air for seconds before it was drilled clear by rain. Behind him, he hauled a black bag along the ground, leaving a flattened trail of grass in its wake. As he approached the house, thunder cracked behind him and he picked up his pace, slowly loping towards his porch. Winston's ears perked up, and the whining of the pack increased. Howls burst through the building storm and the pack launched themselves down towards their master, swarming around his feet and sniffing at his cargo with anticipation. He growled at them quietly and they cleared a path for him - thumping up the steps, across the porch, and into the house. Will cast off his coat, shaking his head in the same manner as his canine family, and shut the door behind them.

"Shh, shh, I know you are hungry," as if in response, Winston drooled on Will's thigh as he hefted the sack onto his kitchen table. "Soon. Be patient." Poking a hole in the bin liner, he tore it open, pulling the plastic back from the occupant's opened ribcage (no head) and down over their feet. One of his larger dogs rested her front paws on the table and whined in anticipation - Will growled in her direction, and she quickly backed down, tail wagging eagerly. He turned back to the body on the table, running a hand over the insides of the hollowed out torso. No tumours, no leakage or overly damaged looking flesh, no remaining organs he may have missed before. Satisfied, he held his hand under the table, feeling wet tongues clean it eagerly.

Once he had checked the whole headless corpse, he turned to the kitchen counter, selecting a knife and picking up the first of several dog bowls. Moving to the body's bloody midsection, he rested the bowl in their chest cavity and began to cut.


	2. Borzoi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound has struck again, and Dr. Lector uses the opportunity to learn more about Will Graham from his superior. Meanwhile, the time for their first session together draws near...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i dont have an awful lot to say about this other than i feel kindve :///// about it  
> idk this didnt flow well enough and basically you can TELL im just writin filler until the time comes for more interestin shit to happen ugh im sorry bethan  
> next chapter will be better i guess mmmm

"This way, Mr. Graham," the forensics assistant gestured into the back yard of the bungalow, directing him past the overflowing weeds and across the patio. Jack Crawford stood, hands behind his back, watching over the writhing mass of the rest of the forensics unit, who were busy scouring the garden for evidence. Will drew level with him, pocketed hands pressing his jacket closer to his sides. A few moments later, Dr. Lector excused his way various FBI workers to join them, standing a little to Will’s left to get a good view.

Almost picked clean of flesh, the skeletal form hung limply from a tall stake, driven into the hard ground below. A thick collar of hemp rope encircled what remained of the body’s neck, looping around like a noose and effectively holding it to the wood. Flies had already been gathering in the skull’s sockets, buzzing away on the inside and crawling out of the nasal cavity and the somewhat chewed looking jaws. If a fly could look pleased, that was the very face one was making, perched on a molar and rubbing its tiny front feet together. For the most part, the body looked as if it had been somewhat haphazardly reassembled; some of the smaller bones in the feet and hands were missing, and occasionally the spine bent in an odd angle. Hannibal leaned a little closer, eyes narrowing as he inspected the state of the rib cage before moving down to the femur, cracked and bent outwards as they were.

“Are those,” he straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back, “teeth marks I can see?” Jack Crawford nodded gravely.

“They’ve already been identified as some kind of canine, possibly more than one judging by variations in size,” he tugged at his collar a little, one finger tucking in behind his tie and pulling to loosen it. “I would tell you more, but first, Will,” Jack gestured to the forensics crew with a hand, and they all began to file back into the house, grumbling a little along the way. Hannibal watched them depart with interest, before turning back to Jack, who simply repeated the gesture to him before retreating into the hour himself. Will ignored them, squaring his scuffed shoes in the dirt, hunching his shoulder towards the carcass like a vulture. His eyelashes pressed against his cheeks and anyone watching would have spotted the tension bleed out of his muscles.

Inside, Crawford guided Hannibal into the victim’s sitting room, indicating him to sit down somewhere. He fitted himself into a heavily built armchair, covered in a protective dust cover, whilst Hannibal chose the equally sturdily built couch, crossing his ankles.

“I’m curious, Mr. Crawford,” Hannibal’s eyes scanned the pattern on Jack’s tie, “as to the true extent of Mr. Graham’s abilities. I have taken the liberty of doing research into his previous involvement and aid in FBI cases, but, as you can imagine,” the left side of his mouth twitched upwards briefly, “declassified information on those topics is often hard to come across. There is not a lot of stock to be taken in the media at times.” Jack nodded in agreement, knuckles gently pressing into his thighs. “Of course, you have told me a little before, but this doesn’t really feel like enough, if you will excuse my prying.”

“I understand,” Jack inhaled deeply. “Will Graham is one of our talented agents, especially in the area of criminal profiling. He is particularly special for his ability to get inside the minds of killers and use the evidence available to reconstruct their thoughts and emotions at the time.”

“An empath of sorts, yes?,” Hannibal tilted his head to one side in interest.

“I suppose so.”

“He doesn’t like eye contact particularly, does he,” outside, a few shafts of sunlight chipped through the clouds and streamed in through the window, highlighting the deer hoof print design on Hannibal’s otherwise white sweatervest.

“Not really,” Jack leaned back in the armchair, scrutinizing the technicians working in the front yard through the window over Hannibal’s right shoulder. “He never has.”

\--

A few days later, Will draped himself over Hannibal Lector’s office upholstery and tucked his feet under his chair. He was wearing the same damp green coat he had worn to the crime scene, the scuffed sleeves twitching between his fingers as he fiddled with them. Blinking owlishly, he exhaled slowly into the front of his shirt before tilting his head back. Hannibal folded himself into the opposite seat, adjusting his posture so he was leaning forward a little, hands laid palm down on his thighs. He studied the scrunching of the fabric of Will’s sleeves under his pale fingertips, waiting for the other man to open up first. They already had their introductions.

“I become them,” Will’s throat bobbed under stubbly skin, “and it’s as if I really am them, at times. As if I have committed the,” he ran his tongue over his front teeth and swallowed again, “crimes that I’m investigating.” Hannibal clasped his hands together, fingers resting over his knuckles, and nodded encouragingly.

“Do you feel powerful, Will?,” he shifted the weight from one foot to the other, and Will’s eyes dropped from inspecting Hannibal’s fridge to the noughts and crosses pattern on today’s sweatervest. The shapes were arranged in an alternating pattern across Hannibal’s chest, navy on white, stopping just before his arms. It was probably very tasteful, if Dr. Lector was attending an afternoon tea party somewhere in England.

Will’s shoulders rolled back a little, “I could say that.”

“Do you feel as if you could repeat their actions yourself?,” Hannibal’s voice lowered a little. Will stilled his hands, pushing them out of his sleeves and down onto his lap. His whole body seemed to relax down into his clothing. A little more color seemed to bleed into his cheeks – he certainly became several shades less pale, neck muscles tensing ever so slightly.

“Yes,” Will locked eyes with Hannibal for all of three seconds, before dropping them to stare pointedly at the other man’s shoulder, “if I wanted to.” 

Hannibal Lector leaned back a little in his chair, the lower vertebrae of his spine pressing into the leather back of it. Later, he would comment quietly to someone that it was that very moment when he first felt utterly, silently unnerved by Will Graham. 

Gathering his composure back together, he changed the subject, “you are still looking a little pale, Will. Would you like tea?” Tensing upwards slightly, Will nodded and mumbled something about no milk, two sugars. Rising from his seat, Hannibal busied himself boiling water and sorting tea bags – hidden from the view of the office’s main area, he had tucked away what amounted to a small kitchenette for this purpose – and asking Will what mug he would like, the Johns Hopkins Medical Centre one or the pawprint patterned one? (Will opted for the latter, returning to fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket.) Hannibal brought two mugs and the teapot back over to the two chairs, setting them on the coffee table off to one side.

When he turned his back to pour the tea, Hannibal was sure he could feel Will’s eyes smiling into the back of his neck.


	3. Jack Russell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will appears at Hannibal's door in the need of an emergency session with the good doctor, but things don't quite progress as planned. Is Will trying to tell Hannibal something, or just unnerve him further?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i havent forgotten about this, haha!! ive just been a bit busy/ill lately and not bee up to updating things very much really. but im back on the game now! i hope so anyway. so uh yeah, enjoy, yo.  
> hopefully youre gonna start guessing the pattern for the chapter titles soon, if you havent already hehe

Will hovered very close to the patient exit of Hannibal's office, tugging at his shirt collar slightly without loosening the top button. After a few minutes, he leaned towards the door, pressing one ear to the solid wood and concentrating intently on what he could hear through it - which wasn't a lot, to be honest, since Hannibal had chosen the thick oak for the privacy it offered. Muffled voices floated through, and the volume increased slightly as Hannibal guided his patient of the time towards the exit for the end of their session.

Stepping back into place, Will closed his eyes and ran a hang through his damp hair, tensing the muscles in his neck a few times. He swallowed and the rain outside beat a little more furiously against the windows.

Within the office, Hannibal's hand slid around the cool metal of the door handle, voice still working to reassure his client that, yes, they could work through this and, yes, he would be available at the same time next week. He paused for a moment, weight on the foot nearest the door, to soften his tone even more and extend his free hand back to his patient, patting the man's arm gently. On the other side, Will swallowed, stubble on his throat bobbing, and ruffled the back of his hair, slicking some of it down with residual rainwater. Hannibal pulled the door open for his client to step out and stopped halfway.

"Will?," his forehead creased a little in surprise. Will rolled his shoulders forward a little and dug his hands into the depths of his coat pockets, shifting his weight from foot to slightly turned inwards foot - the very picture of an anxious patient in need of Dr. Lector's assistance.

"I needed to see you, Dr. Lector," Will's voice was quiet, directed to somewhere on Hannibal's chest, and scratchy like an old woollen sweater, uncomfortable and itchy. His body pushed itself away from the door a little, recoiling from human contact. "It's," he coughed a little, "urgent. I." Hannibal opened the door to its full extent and released the handle, stepping through it. His client hovered uncomfortably on the other side, still in the office, as he gently took Will's arm and guided him out of the way.

"You know this is the exit, Will," Hannibal kept his voice gentle, "you need to wait up front in future."

"I know, but," Will tensed the muscles in his neck. Hannibal relaxed his grip on Will's jacket and stepped back.

"But you still need to use that entrance, Will," he managed to extract a small nod from Will in response, "now, allow me to show Franklin here out." Wills shuffled himself into a corner, nodding reluctantly, whilst Hannibal turned back to his present patient, gently guiding the slightly rotund - and very nervy looking - man out of the building's door, and towards his car. In their absence, Will recovered his composure and slipped into the office, padding around the room now that he isn't being watched. Stopping by one of the bookcases, he ran his hand along the spines of several recipe books. Idly pulling one out - creatively entitled Dishes of the World - he flicked through it, only stopping when he found what looked like a particularly fine curry recipe. His eyes scanned the page - until footsteps re-entering the building interrupted his line of thought. Tearing the page out, Will snapped the book shut and shoved it back onto the shelf, stuffing the removed page into his pocket. He skirted the furniture and flopped down into one of the soft leather chairs.

Hannibal closed the door behind him, and turned to Will, hesitating a little, "you are aware that is my chair, Will." Will made no effort to move. Hannibal rolled his shoulders a little and moved to seat himself in the patient chair, crossing his legs. "You are very fortunate that I don't have any clients right now, Will," Hannibal continued.

"I know."

"Nevertheless," Hannibal narrowed his eyes a tiny bit, as Will's hands buried themselves in his lap, "you know you should book an appointment with me in advance. I believe we have one scheduled for Thursday anyway, Will."

"I know."

"You said this was urgent, though, is that correct?," Will chin jerked a little instead of nodding, "what is so urgent, Will?"

Will focussed on Hannibal's left shoulder, "that's a nice sweatervest." Hannibal blinked and looked down - it was quite a nice sweaterbest, a little tight under his arms but otherwise quite a snug fit, a forest green in color with a dotted white pattern. The shirt underneath was crisp and white, the image completed by a black tie (the hidden end of the tongue had a white stag's head printed on it). Hannibal tugged the vest down a little.

"Well, he returned his attention to Will, who was fussing with the end of his sleeves in an act of nervousness, "thank you, Will. However we are not here to discuss my fashion sense. What is troubling you?"

"I was dreaming," Will shifted in his chair, the leather creaking a little, "about the last crime scene."

"I see," Hannibal leaned forward a little, nodding slowly and encouragingly. A part of him wanted to inform Will that this could have been kept for Thursday, instead of interrupting his session with his previous patient and seating himself in Hannibal's usual chair.

"He follows. Me through my dreamscape, as if he is haunting me, as if he," Will's eyes fluttered closed behind his chipped glasses and he sagged a little - Hannibal's previous irritation melted away in an instant, "blames me for what happened to him. As if he thinks it is my fault."

"Do you feel it is your fault, Will?" Will tilted his head to one side, shrugging with the opposite shoulder. "Do you think you could have prevented what happened?"

"I feel," the lashes decorating his eyes crept open and Will stared at the pattern on Hannibal's sweatervest, counting the white spots on its wool surface, "I feel," he sunk a little lower into Hannibal's chair, "as if he knows." Hannibal felt himself lean back a little, as if trying to edge back from the piercing grey stare that was focussed onto his left eye for all of four seconds. Will's eyes dropped to inspect the carpet around Hannibal's feet, and the uneven tying of the shoelaces in the doctor's shoes. The bow on the left was slightly bigger and the knot less fat. Hannibal inhaled slowly.

"How do you mean, Will?", he steepled his fingers to ensure they remained steady, and kept his voice smooth.

"He knows," Will's voice shook a little and his eyes widened a little exposing the bloodshot edges to the feather soft lighting of Hannibal's office, "he won't let me forget he knows."

"Will."

"He knows, and soon they will all know," Will stared blankly over Hannibal's shoulder, hands still in his lap, "I can taste it, I can-"

"Will, I-"

"-feel it still, I can smell it, the wicked shall be devou-"

"Will!"

Will snapped upright and then slumped down in his chair, hands escaping back into his jacket pockets. Hannibal lurched upright, crossing the space between them, and took his patient's head gently in his hands, running his thumbs on the badly shaved stubble and across clammy skin. Will's eyes flickered a little, before slowing down to a few blinks before refocussing again, on a patch of the ceiling past Hannibal's right arm. Face creased a little in concern, the doctor moved one hand to check his breathing and pulse, before carefully moving his hands to Will's shoulders, gripping them gently.

"Are you alright, Will?," he continued to scrunitize Will's face, who simply swallowed drily. He blinked a little, as if he had forgotten what has just happened - but not convincing enough to completely fool Hannibal.

"I was just thinking," Will ran a hand through his curls, tugging at the damp ones crushed onto the back of his neck, "about trying to cook curry today."

**Author's Note:**

> as a last note this feels really clumpily written ggg im out of practice w/ past tense  
> im gomen


End file.
